


Interval

by lindigo



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, fooooooooreshadowing because im not subtle at all, some good crimes too, tw for blood??? and implied torture??? i guess???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 00:59:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15108440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindigo/pseuds/lindigo
Summary: ‘I dunno what to do, drummer,’ he mumbles. ‘I dunno.’In that moment, Amanda realizes she’s got to take charge. The boys are gone, Vogel sounds as if he’s about to cry and Todd is not even an option at this point so they’re on their own. All alone. On the run. But there’s no time for that anxiety, not now that they’re stranded and without any feasible compass and-Amanda suppresses it and takes a deep breath.Okay.She can do this. She has to do this.‘Hey. Vogel,’ she makes herself say it before her fear can make her think twice. ‘I think I’ve got a plan.’--What happens directly after the Blackwing resurgence at the end of Season 1. There's a general focus on the rowdies, but pretty much everybody shows up.





	Interval

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! just in case you didn't read the tags, tw for mild blood and implied violence. It's very tame, but this is just to be safe :)

‘Vogel. Get her out of here.’

That’s all it takes for Vogel to snatch her hand and drag her away, away from the van, the danger, the boys. As they scramble through the brush, she splutters at the taste of smoke in her mouth and, somewhere behind her, Cross roars. Amanda keeps trying to look back at them as they race down a side path and sometimes she catches glimpses of their jackets, their hair, but she also sees the gas, the helmeted grunts with weighted bats.

There’s the sound of a loud, heavy thwack and then roars, responding in rage at a fallen brother and Amanda knows she’ll be useless in a fight but she lurches to a stop anyway and Vogel’s attention snaps to her. 

‘Drummer, we gotta go!’ he says, panicked, shaking her by the shoulders. ‘They’re gonna catch up!’

‘We have to help!’ she tugs him back towards the field but he snaps back, rapid-fire.

‘We can’t! We hafta go, drummer! Or else they’ll find us and put us in bad cages and - ’ His eyes flick up for a second and he shoves her down towards the ground, hauling her behind the undergrowth. ‘ _Drummer_ ,’ he hisses, fervently. ‘Please!

‘What are those guys? I thought you could take anyo-‘

They freeze as a gunshot pierces through the glade and Amanda hears Martin howl. Vogel stares at a point beyond her, his fingers fluttering over her shoulders in a noticeable tremble.

‘Martin wants us away,’ he whispers and she’s not sure if he’s reminding her or himself. ‘We gotta, drummer. We gotta.’

She stares at him as her mind races for a foothold. She won’t help the situation, she knows that, and it's the worst. Amanda thought that feeling helpless, feeling weak would die with her old life but it’s still here, nothing’s changed and she still can’t live without the universe fucking her over, damnit -!

‘Drummer!’

Amanda shoots back into reality. Vogel is still crouched in front of her, jittery and concerned but he won’t leave without her.

He won’t leave without her.

The thought wakes her up and Amanda takes Vogel’s hand in hers, gritting her teeth. He returns with an affirmative cock of his head and they slide down the grassy bank and stumble through an underground tunnel with gravel scuttling over the soles of their boots. Almost instinctively, she finds herself jabbing a familiar number into her phone - Vogel hisses a reminder about their precarious situation and she ignores him . In a whirl, Todd’s voice crackles through the speaker.

‘Amanda?’

‘Todd - Todd, oh my god, they’re coming – it’s really bad!’ All of a sudden, words are falling out of her mouth and Amanda is trying to stomp down the panic. Vogel keeps her running straight - he slows down imperceptibly so that she catches up then takes her by her elbow, dragging her along, spurring her down the path.

'Keep moving,' he mouths and she nods furiously, distracted.

‘What’s happening? Who’s coming?’

Irrationally, she’s angry. They don’t have time for this. ‘Todd, you have to listen to me,’ she pleads. ‘You have to – listen! You –!’

‘Stay where you are!’ he cuts her off. ‘I’ll find you. You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine! Aa-!’

Over the line, there’s a rush and a crash as if he’s dropped his phone and then she hears him cry out in painand –

‘Todd? Todd, what’s happening?! Todd!’

The line cuts out.

She stares, dumbfounded, at the blank screen. What the hell was that? Todd was… _screaming_. Maybe those helmet-heads got to him or-

Overhead, they hear the harsh crunch of wheels over gravel and they freeze. Vogel stares at her, blinking rapidly with panic.

Fuck it. She can’t deal with this now. Amanda shoves her phone back in her pocket and squeezes his hand tight.

‘C’mon,’ she whispers. ‘We have to keep moving.’ Vogel nods, his expression dead-set, and then they’re racing down the road.

She keeps pace with Vogel now as they stamp down the footpath, ducking into side alleys, climbing over wooden fences and she doesn’t let herself think. They’re okay, the thought gasps into her ears. They’re too good to be taken out by these faceless goons.

Amanda’s pretty sure this isn’t how it works but she flings out a plea to the universe anyway.

_Please. Don’t let them get hurt._

Vogel is fast - really, really fast – and agile too, making split turns round corners and hopping up on dumpsters to get a better peek of the road but it doesn’t take long for Amanda to notice that he’s scattered, nervous. They don’t have a designated escape route by any means; Vogel is just running and running, making split-second decisions and it’s on the third time they pass the same barber with that pot plant out front that she comes to a halt.

‘Vogel, wait!’ she pants as she props herself on her knees. Further down the sidewalk, he whips around, dashes back to her side and tries to haul her up by her elbow, all the while his eyes dart around frantically.

‘What’s up? What’s wrong? Are you hurting? Where’s the hurt?’ he says. He’s hopping from side to side beside her, uncertain. She stops his feverish twitching with a hand on his shoulder.

‘Vogel,’ she says. ‘What. Is. The. Plan?’

‘The plan?’ he squeaks out, blinking in bewilderment. ‘The plan. Oh I – I don’t-’

For a second he goes stock still, his eyes focused on nothing. Then he bolts into the adjacent alley, yanking her into the shadows even as she protests.

‘Vogel what the-!’ she begins but he shushes her quickly and not a few minutes later, a dented black van rolls past their side-nook. Three of its tinted windows are cracked and one is shattered with a hastily applied jacket covering the opening. From the battered back of the van, she can hear the underlying rumble of growls and she glances up to gauge Vogel’s reaction.

He’s transfixed, eyes locked onto the van, and he gravitates towards it, leaning up towards the road in a subconscious slide of his feet. For a moment, she thinks he’s actually going to run after them and she tugs urgently on his sleeve.

‘ _Vogel_ ,’ she hisses and he finally rips his gaze away from the road, shuddering.

‘The plan,’ he blurts out as the hum of the engine disappears into the distance. ‘Martin-he-he always…’ he sputters for a second, the sentence dying in his throat, and he jumps to his feet.

‘We gotta-uh-I mean…if we-’ he fumbles, pacing around their little alley. ‘What if I-’ Vogel takes a step out of the shadows with his arms outstretched, making as if to follow the boys in the van but –

‘No,’ Amanda says. ‘You can’t. You’ll get captured too.’

‘But-!’ He stares at her, imploring, but there’s no real enthusiasm behind it and he deflates into a dejected pile next to her. ‘I dunno what to do, drummer,’ he mumbles. ‘I dunno.’

In that moment, Amanda realizes she’s got to take charge. The boys are gone, Vogel sounds as if he’s about to cry and Todd is not even an  _option_  at this point so they’re on their own. All alone. On the run. But there’s no time for that anxiety, not now that they’re stranded and without any feasible compass and-

Amanda suppresses it and takes a deep breath.

Okay.

She can do this. She has to do this.  

‘Hey. Vogel,’ she makes herself say it before her fear can make her think twice. ‘I think I’ve got a plan.’

He perks up and shoots upright.

‘You do?’ he whispers in awe. She gives a smile that’s more confident than she feels and nods. That tremble in her hand is already lessening so. Good start. And (even better) it’s making room for a new emotion, something that makes her clench her fists tight by her side.

Oh. Yep. She’s officially pissed off.

This  _Thing?_  Is not. Fucking. Fair. She finally got her one chance at a life and there the universe goes again – ripping her apart as soon as she put her pieces back together. Maybe this makes her selfish but she’s got plenty of room for selfish after she’s been feeling nothing but ‘bitter’ and ‘scared out of her fucking wits’ for years now. Vogel’s renewed spark is already firing her up and Amanda tells herself that they will be okay.

Because there have been so many times that she’s been so far away from okay and this – this, she can handle.

\--

They all feel it when they pass Vogel and Drummer. Two little pulsing points, distant then excruciatingly close and then swooping away again as the van rumbles on. For a second, they can feel Vogel waver, a flickering whisper at the edge of their minds but he stays put and they race away.

All three of them exchange a look, knowing better than to make any vocal indication, and they grin, toothy and mischievous in the knowledge that one – no,  _two_  – got away. Cross releases a bubbling chuckle that comes from low in his throat and it steams in the chilly air of their prison.

‘Free-reign,’ he mumbles then winces as he reopens his split lip. ‘Ugh. Blood don’t taste as good as they say, Mart.’

‘Maybe your own red ain’t top notch like mine,’ Martin says as he leans back on his haunches, smirking. A gash stretching from his brow to his cheek leaks blood intermittently.

Gripps shoulder-bumps Cross playfully. ‘Eh, you need it,’ he mutters good-naturedly. ‘Not enough iron in your system.’

‘I’d be just fine if I got my crowbar back,’ Cross says loudly and kicks at the glass wall separating their enclosure from where the soldiers are seated. ‘Oi!’ he yells. ‘Y’hear that? I’m deficient!’

He giggles at his own over-enunciation of the word and tumbles to the floor where he peers up at Martin.

‘How’s the sniffer?’ he says and gestures with his manacled wrists to Martin’s bleeding nose. Martin nudges at his head with his feet and licks his lips in mock-thought.

‘Well, I’d say im a real bloodhound now, eh? Though it don’t take an expert noser to smell  _them_  out,’ Gripps grunts out his own affirmation and, with that, Martin eyes the group of silent, armour-clad soldiers before them. The white-haired man peers through his cracked glasses in silence and flashes a conspiring grin to Cross. ‘You know what?’ he continues. ‘At least your red smells better than the clonker over there.’

All three of them break into sniggers as they feel the soldiers tense up. One of them, a man with a golden fuzz of a haircut, glares from where he’s patching up his bleeding hand. Gripps, who’d been the biter in the first place, bares his teeth in a menacing reminder.

‘Oooh, stink-eye,’ Cross whoops and clambers to his feet. ‘C’mon over, clonker. I can give you a black eye instead.’

The blonde snorts derisively. An assumed superior mutters a warning.

‘I’d like to see you try,’ the soldier responds, ignoring the admonishment. Cross squints at him.

‘Lemme out and I’ll let you get good view,’ he says and his smile grows wider at the ensuing silence. ‘Scared, stick boy?’ Cross bangs on the glass with his restrained hands and the screen shudders with the weight of it.

Suddenly, the blonde is up and out of his seat and he slams his palms against the glass wall, his lips twisted into a cruel sneer.

‘Look here, you bastard,’ he hisses. ‘You freaks might drain energy or whatever but you can still bleed and I’ll make sure-’

Martin lunges and crashes up against the glass, snarling, and the soldier topples backwards in shock. The three rowdies guffaw at his reaction even as he is hauled away.

‘You’re lucky we ain’t hungry, boy!’ Martin calls after him but his confident smirk flattens out as he sees the other soldiers readying weighted bats at their sides. ‘‘Scuse me,’ he continues. ‘We gonna dance again?’

The other men pause. After a moment of contemplation, the superior who had previously reprimanded the blonde wordlessly heaves a metal slide over the glass and leaves them shrouded in an impenetrable darkness. Gripps sighs in mock exasperation.

‘Might be vampires but we ain’t bats,’ he says. From somewhere to his left, Cross chuckles softly.

The mirth there is shakey.

\--

Back when her pararibulitis was her entire life, Amanda would marathon action movies to replace her anxiety with explosions and quotable line readings. Liam Neeson and Bruce Willis became her patron deities and Michael Bay, an enabler. So, she’d say she’s pretty well versed in the art of being a fugitive. In fact, she already has a plan ready by the time she’s finished counting out the contents of the wallet Vogel had just snatched up from behind a dumpster.

‘So. We have…three hundred and five dollars-,’ Amanda pauses to fiddle with the leftover coins. ‘-and fifty cents. Not bad for a garbage dive.’

‘That good?’ Vogel chirps. ‘Are we good?’

She clicks her tongue. ‘We’ll make it work,’ she mutters and she moves to the mouth of the alley, her eyes lighting up as she finds her first destination. Vogel creeps up behind her, peeking around her figure to the world beyond her.

‘Okay,’ she mumbles and draws her jacket closer to her. ‘Let’s do this.’

\--

**Step 1: New Ride**

‘So,’ Amanda says as she strolls down the appliance aisle. ‘The first rule of being a fugitive is that you’ve generally gotta lay low.’

Vogel nods vigorously from his spot two steps behind her, glancing round the shop in a mixture of nervousness and curiosity. In contrast to his tension, Amanda is strangely relaxed and she squints at the rack of tools beside her. With a hissed ‘yes!’, she snatches her prize off a hook and stuffs it under her top. At Vogel’s questioning stare, she winks and draws his to one side.

‘So that’s why,’ she continues, ‘We’re going to do all the illegal stuff now and get it all over with.’

After a short peek at the dull security camera forlornly staring from a dusty corner, Amanda turns to Vogel and promptly starts to muss up his hair, one hand darting out to rumple his shirt and smear dust over his face. He splutters, indignant, but he stays as still as he possibly can.

‘Okay,’ Amanda leans back on the balls of her feet to survey her work. ‘Now try to be sad and desperate.’

‘I’m sad and desperate!’ Vogel whines.

‘Great!’ She claps her hands together in delight then falters, reaching out tentatively to pat him on his shoulder. ‘Are you actually?’

‘Um…yeah? Or-no. I don't know. Anyway!’ Vogel fumbles for a second before he whips out a packet of chips. ‘What’s this for again?’

‘A crime.’

‘Cool!’ Vogel begins to dash away.

‘Wait-no-Vogel!’ Amanda drags him back in front of her and fixes him with a hard stare. ‘I have to give you the instructions.’

‘I already know!’ he says, waving the chip bag around excitedly. ‘Run out, get caught, no fighting - ’

‘Remember that! No fighting!’

‘ – and wait for you to help!’ Vogel finishes, poised in a crouch awaiting her verdict. With a fond sigh, Amanda nods and jabs a finger towards the exit, grinning as she watches him race through the door at a breakneck speed.

Just as expected, an alarm blares through the shop and Vogel screeches to a stop as the owner, springs up with a wide-eyed stare. Amanda sprints through the door a moment later, grinning to herself as the alarm set off by the prize lying snug under her top mixes with Vogel’s chip bag, and plasters a disapproving expression onto her face as she drags the young man back to the door. The owner, a wide-set, ruddy-cheeked man, glares at them, his arms crossed.

‘What the hell was that?’ he growls and Amanda shoves Vogel forward.

‘Just my brother being a dumbass,’ she says off-handedly, channeling ‘world-worn, exhausted teen’. After her partner doesn’t move, she rolls her eyes. ‘Come on,’ she adds. ‘Give it.’

Grumbling something unintelligible, Vogel hands the chip bag over and returns to her side, looking forlorn. The man looks him up and down, tsks to himself and turns his attention to Amanda.

‘Brother?’ he asks, one eyebrow raised in question. ‘You two don’t look related.’

Thinking on her feet, Amanda barges in front of Vogel protectively.

‘He’s from the system!’ she snaps. ‘You got a problem with that?’

‘Whoa-what?’ he backs away in shock, blinking wildly. ‘I didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout that, girlie.’

‘Whatever,’ Amanda grumbles and she hauls Vogel away with one hand on his sleeve. Once they’ve left the view of the store, he bursts into laughter.

‘That was awesome, boss!’ He bounces up and down giddily. ‘You’re like a super-spy!’

She can’t help but grin in triumph and she whoops with him, brandishing her stolen reward like a trophy.

‘Experience from high school,’ she fills him in after they’ve caught their breath. ‘My friends used to make these runs all the time.’ She pauses, thinking to herself. ‘We’re lucky that store’s still open. It’s the only one with such a great blind spot.’

‘So what’s next?’ he asks, still thrumming with so much energy that Amanda has to drag him to a stop by his collar.

‘This-’ She nods at the sprawling carpark at their right.  ‘– and this.’ With that, she waves her tool around with a flourish. ‘We’re going to use this screwdriver to unscrew as many number plates as we can.’

‘Awesome! But why?’

‘To confuse the cops and buy us more time,’ She pats the hood of a red Chevy, fixing Vogel in place with a mischievous grin.

‘But mostly because it’s fun.’

\--

‘I see. Yes, I realize that. You are to stay on mission. We will expect your arrival within a few hours.’

Wilson ends the phone call with a brisk jab and turns to her iPad, which displays an uncomfortably close ongoing feed of Friedkin.

‘You’re standing too close again, Supervisor Friedkin,’ she states and the man immediately backs up to a more satisfactory distance, his face flushed with embarrassment.

‘Uh. Sorry.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Wilson responds. ‘I have just received confirmation that Squad 1-D has successfully captured Project Incubus but have sustained heavy damage to their vehicles and equipment.’

‘Oh,’ Friedkin says, eloquent as always. ‘That’s bad. Right?’

‘Yes,’ she says flatly. ‘You’ll have to organize a repair detail to meet them when they return to HQ as well as an extra squad for security. The sedation shot didn’t take to Project Incubus and they will require forceful detainment,’ Wilson regards Friedkin whose face is scrunched up from confusion. ‘Do you understand, Supervisor Friedkin?’ she adds.

He nods his head far too vigorously to be convincing. ‘Yeah,’ he says loudly, as if volume would cover up his obvious nervousness. ‘Uh. Yeah. Um. Thanks. Thank you, ma’am.’

Wilson eyes him for a second. ‘I will be leaving for New York soon. Do you require any further instruction or guidance for operating Blackwing in my absence?’

Immediately, Friedkin’s eyes widen in panic and he fumbles, finally forming after a sentence after only five excruciating seconds of inadequacy. ‘Could I-uh-could I get a helper to – you know – help me. With things?’

‘I’ll provide you with assistance, Supervisor Friedkin. You will have all of Blackwing at your disposal.’

‘No but I mean like – like a personal helper.’

Wilson sighs. ‘That would be your lieutenant, Supervisor Friedkin. I have sent Assistent to aid you in your progress.’

‘Wait, so the lieutenant is my assistant?’

‘No. The lieutenant is not an assistant. It just happens that Assistent is your lieutenant.’

‘Uh huh,’ Friedkin nods dumbly. ‘So. I’ve got an assistant.’

‘In a sense.’

‘Cool.’

She stares at him, long and hard.

‘I am now signing off, Supervisor Friedkin. Good luck.’

‘Thank y-’

Wilson doesn’t let him finish before she snaps the feed shut with a flick of her finger. With a belabored sigh, she mentally reviews her situation.

This will be eventful.

\--

‘Rule number two of being a fugitive: never buy a car.’

Amanda surveys the car dealership with an air of nonchalance as Vogel fidgets next to her, bearing their stolen shopping bag that holds four different number plates and one, very well-used screwdriver.

‘Cars are expensive-’ she continues. ‘-and money needs to be saved for more important things like weapons or nicer clothes. Also, stealing a car is just way cooler than buying one.’

At this point, she swivels round to talk to him, face to face, and her voice takes on a conspiratorial tone.

‘See, the problem is that my pararibulitis hit before I could really learn how to drive a car so it might be a bit of a learning experience for both of-’

‘I can do it!’ Vogel pipes up excitedly. She stares at him in surprise.

‘You know how to drive?’

‘Yeah! The other guys taught me how to do it!’

Amanda stares vacantly at the ground, her hands framing her forehead in shock. ‘I can’t believe I never thought of that,’ she mutters incredulously. ‘Okay, Vogel. You’re going to drive.’

‘Yesssss!’ He pumps his fists in the air with joy. ‘Let’s go get one now!’

‘Sorry to steal your thunder, buddy, but we gotta be sneaky.’

‘Sneaky,’ he echoes, nodding quickly.

‘With this thing!’ Amanda rifles around in their plastic bag and pulls out their trusty screwdriver.

‘With that thing!’

‘So what we’re going to do is that we’re going to decide on a car right now and target it. This place has pretty shitty cars so this trick -’ she pauses to wiggle the screwdriver in her grip. ‘-should work for all of them.’

Immediately, Vogel points at a slim, battered car situated close to the road. ‘That one!’ he exclaims.

‘Why? It’s all banged up.’

‘Yeah! It’s just like our old one!’

Amanda glances over to see Vogel’s joyful expression and she sighs, conceding. ‘Can’t argue with that,’ she says fondly and he hisses in delight. ‘Now c’mon. We’ve gotta get behind it.’

After catching a quick glimpse of their target’s location, Amanda pushes off the wall she had been leaning against and strolls down the footpath with Vogel in tow. Whenever he looks as if he’s about to go running off she hooks her finger under his jacket and slows him down.

‘Remember-’ she whispers, ‘-we gotta look casual. We’re just normal, punk-ass degenerates walking down a street.’

Vogel giggles. ‘Punk-ass,’ he repeats, and laughs again.

In a few minutes, they’re walking along the hedge that lines the left side of the parking lot and Amanda side-eyes their chosen car, mentally cheering as she studies the door handles. As soon as they reach the section where the hedge merges into a brick wall, the two of them slyly sidestep over the line of shrubbery and sink into a crouch. With the hedge at their back and a line of cars at their front, they’re virtually invisible to the bored salesman who idles next to the front door.

‘That car is  _perfect_!’ she hisses to Vogel. ‘Just give me a few seconds and I’ll get the door open.’

‘Whaddabout the keys? Won’t clipboard-boy have those?’ Vogel jerks his head over towards the salesman who yawns intermittently.

Amanda gives him a look. ‘Vogel. This is a used-car dealership. In Oregon. The keys will be in the ignition.’

And they are. Shoved roughly into the slot, the keys glint at her from behind the tinted windows and, after a swift jiggle of the screwdriver under the handle, she’s tossing them to Vogel who catches it with glee.

‘C’mon!’ Vogel tumbles into the driver’s seat, seamlessly ripping off the ‘for sale’ sticker plastered onto the windshield, and Amanda follows, slamming the door behind them. From the corner of her eye, Amanda sees the salesman’s head shoot up and she smacks the dashboard. ‘Go go go go go!’

The car lurches into gear and with a celebratory whoop, Vogel sends them tearing out of the parking lot. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, Amanda twists in her seat and waves back to the sales guy who’s quickly getting farther and farther away.

‘Thanks for the ride!’ she laughs, loud and obnoxious, and Vogel howls wildly at her left.

‘We’re zoomers!’ he shouts and she allows herself a self-satisfied sigh as the road speeds by underneath them.

A few minutes later and miles away from the parking lot, the grimey number plate clatters to the ground where four screws already lie. Amanda flips through their stolen plates like it's a pack of cards and flings the final one at Vogel. He smacks it against the bare hide of their car and squints.

‘Stolen identity,’ Amanda draws a tick in the air with her finger. ‘Done.’

\--

Hugo Friedkin stares at the monitor humming away in front of him in barely-restrained irritation.

‘This is so unfair,’ he says for the fifth time and his subordinate beside him barely stifles a sigh.

‘What is, sir?’ the soldier responds in a bored monotone.

Friedkin pushes away from the desk in his wheelie-chair and throws his hands up in frustration. ‘This!’ he points at his computer emphatically. The screen displays a live feed of the sealed cell that lies just a few steps to their left where that guy, Dirk or whatever, lies sprawled on the floor, unconscious, with his wrists bound in manacles that are chained to the wall. ‘It’s so boring!’

He spins around in his chair aimlessly. ‘You know,’ he pipes up, and the driver slams shut the panel that separates the two sections of the van. ‘I heard the other team had to use physical force to capture those rowdy guys.’

‘Project Incubus?’ the soldier ventures.

‘Yeah, whatever,’ Friedkin waves him away. ‘That sounds like the best! But look where I am! With you! And-and the normal, boring, stupid guy who actually goes to sleep when we give him a sedative.’

He slumps back in his seat with a long-winded groan. ‘This suuuucks.’

‘Only a few more hours,’ the soldier forces his words through a strained, tight-lipped smile.

‘Hours?’ Friedkin jumps out of his seat, stricken. ‘This trip is going to take hours? Why?’

The subordinate stares at him, blinking rapidly. ‘Uh…’ he says. ‘Because…we need to obey traffic laws?’

‘That’s so dumb!’ Hugo smacks the desk in irritation and spills the other guy’s water bottle all over his pants. ‘I thought we were government! Can’t we do whatever we want?’

‘That’s not how it works.’

‘It should be,’ he sits back down again, sulking. ‘We’re the government!’

For a second, he thinks to himself in silence, then snatches a keycard off the desk. ‘Maybe I could wake him up or something.’

‘What?’

‘The guy in the cell. Dirk or Svlad or whatever.’

‘You want to wake up Project Icarus.’

‘Icarus?’ Friedkin wrinkles his nose. ‘I always thought that name was dumb. What was he anyway? Just a guy who used candles instead of glue to fly and then wow – ‘ he mimics an explosion with his hands. ‘- he falls and dies. Idiot.’

Behind him, his subordinate rolls his eyes.

‘He doesn’t even have wings, though,’ Hugo swivels round in his chair, arms crossed. ‘He’s just a guy. What’s up with that?’

The soldier shrugs. ‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t know? Aren’t you part of Blackwing?’

‘I am, sir.’

‘Then what’s the deal?’

The younger man gives a long, soul-crushing sigh. ‘I don’t have the security clearance to know the details of the projects, sir,’ he says slowly. ‘I’m here as accompanying security personnel.’

‘Huh,’ Friedkin spins around so his back is facing the soldier and sinks back in his chair. ‘Security clearance. That’s something.’

\--

**Step 2: New Look**

‘Rule 3 of fugitive-ity: change your look,’ Amanda cocks her head at the charity shop they’re parked outside. ‘We’re gonna get a makeover.’

She pauses when she sees Vogel stare forlornly at his cat shirt and pats him on his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry,’ she adds. ‘We won’t change that much.’

He pulls his mouth to the side in thought. ‘Can I keep the jacket?’ After a second, he adds, ‘The other guys got it for me. So it’s mine.’

Suddenly, the adrenaline that’s been keeping her running high wavers and she blows a sigh out through her nose. ‘Well,’ she clears her throat awkwardly. ‘You can keep that. Okay?’

The moment she gets a nod, Amanda ruffles his hair affectionately and then they’re clambering out of the car. Ever conscious of time, she sets a limit from the very start – 30 minutes and then they’re out. It means that for the time they’re there, they rifle through the clothes racks like madmen and by the time they’re done, Amanda is panting from exertion as she slaps the money down on the counter.

As the nonplussed cashier rings them up, she flips through their remaining money. They’ve still got a considerable wad of cash and she glances around the newly-turned-haphazard shopping aisles for anything useful they may have missed. It would be good to make the most of their limited remaining stops before they skip town – who knows when they’d be able to stock up on supplies and – oh. Well. She squints at the slim box leaning on a nearby wire rack. Can she really justify that? From her right, Vogel comes running up, clasping a scratched up golf club close to his chest.

‘Please?’ he wheedles and a grin splits across her face. Oh, what the hell. They both deserve a treat.

With an apologetic glance to their world-worn cashier, Amanda slaps the club as well as the thin eye-shadow palette down on the counter. The guy almost looks like he’s about to say something but then-

‘We’re hipsters,’ Amanda says quickly. The cashier just rolls his eyes and sighs.

Minutes later, they slide back into the car seats, now donning new clothes and Amanda touches up her eye shadow in the rear-view mirror. She darts a look at Vogel.

‘We’ve got one more stop.’

He groans, his previously ecstatic expression falling into one of frustration. ‘Really, boss?’ he whines. ‘We should get going now!’

She shakes her head. ‘If we’re going to do this, we’ll have to commit.’ She emphasizes the last word pointedly. ‘We’re going to drop off our old stuff at bargain bins. Muddy the trail a bit.’

At his expression, she softens up and pats him on the shoulder. ‘We’ll get to finding them soon,’ she reassures. ‘But this first. Okay?’

It’s not okay. Not really. In truth, Amanda wants to be after those helmet heads as soon as possible as well. But now, she’s got someone to protect in Vogel. All this prep for their time on the run is as much for him as it is for her.

With a huff, they buckle themselves in and speed away, and Vogel guides them to their pitstops in his own, odd, round-about way. It’s as they’re dropping off the last of their belongings (and Amanda says a tearful farewell to her old, baggy clothes) that she catches sight of a similar barbershop.

‘That damn pot plant,’ she mutters to herself, not really thinking, and it makes Vogel’s attention whip to her.

‘What’s up?’

Something is definitely up but she can’t put her finger on what it is. The sign of the shop looms at her, strangely entrancing, and the flourish at the end of the name that flows into an image of scissors seems to snip menacingly at her.

‘You wanna haircut, boss?’

Amanda blinks her way out of the daze. That was weird. ‘What did you say?’ she manages, then, as time speeds up to its normal pace, she finds herself nodding. ‘I mean, yeah. Yeah. Let’s get a haircut.’

Vogel beams and there he goes, racing off to the store. As they get closer, Amanda sees that the bell seems to hang off an oddly snail-like curl of iron.

‘Hm,’ she says to no one.

‘I’m going to look like a gangster!’ Vogel’s voice pierces through her mind and Amanda blinks again, clearing away the creeping mist at the edges of her thoughts. With an aggravated huff, she shakes her head. She doesn’t have time for this. With that, she shoves upon the barber door and walks in purposefully.

‘I’m going to get an undercut,’ she says and somebody, far away, seems to approve.

\--

‘ETA is-? Right. 10 minutes. Copy,’ The commanding officer signs off, closing down the com line, and strides over to the border of red tape that surrounds a yellow taxi. A team of twenty men have been stationed nearby, all with fully loaded weapons pointing directly at the sole, living individual cowering inside the vehicle.

‘I-I’m still surrendering!’ Ken squeaks from where he’s huddled under the dash. ‘I’ll be completely coopera-’

‘Quiet!’ a gunman barks and Ken snaps his mouth shut with a clack. Beside him, Rapunzel the corgi pants happily in the passenger seat. A rustle in the bushes makes a few straggler soldiers cocks their guns in preparation, but they relax when they catch sight of a squadron jogging towards them. One of them, the leader, breaks off from the pack and approaches the officer.

‘Project Marzanna has been lost,’ the man whispers but Ken can still read his lips and he celebrates internally, just a little bit. After a second of hesitation, the leader adds, ‘-and so have a few of our men.’

From behind the able-bodied pack of men, a solid handful of wounded and bleeding men are being dragged into the open field. More than a few of them are dead. One of them is missing a head.

The officer makes an affirmative grunt and gestures over to the makeshift first-aid tent that has been set up at the far corner of the field. ‘Take them there,’ he mutters. ‘We’ll deal with casualties later.’

‘Also,’ the leader continues with a grimace. ‘Our vehicle was destroyed.’

The officer pinches his nose and takes in a deep breath.

‘We’ll pick up the wreckage. Later.’ He punctuates the last word with a clap on the other man’s chest. The conversation is clearly over.

It’s no use – Ken can’t help himself from darting glances round at the wreckage Bart has left behind. Scattered around the field lays the battered carcasses of five separate armoured vehicles with two still sending plumes of smoke up into the sky. Further down the road, the tank that had been so intimidating only a few minutes ago is a wreck. The main gun component is only now being hauled up out from the ditch that it had rolled to after being forcibly detached from the rest of the vehicle, which is overturned and seems to be missing track wheels on its right hand side.

‘Hey!’ Ken jolts in surprise and the sudden movement makes ten men cock their guns in menacing synchronicity. The officer, who was the one to speak, flicks on his megaphone again. ‘No sudden movements, remember?’

‘N-no-no sudden movements,’ Ken repeats, visibly trembling.

‘Now. You said that you wanted to cooperate?’ the man’s voice blares from where he stands behind the orange tape. Ken swallows, hard, around the lump in his throat.

‘Yes!’ he says, maybe a bit too loud, and the soldiers inch closer. ‘I-I’m just a guy. I don’t – I’m not involved with this at all!’

‘You were with Project Marzanna for a week,’ comes the officer’s flat response. ‘You’re involved. And maybe you won’t tell us now why that is, but you will eventually.’

‘What?’ Ken asks and just at that moment, a second convoy of armoured trucks round the corner onto the field. Slowly, he turns around in his seat to take in the massive length of the lorry that crawls into view.

‘We’ll be taking you in for questioning,’ the officer says.

‘What?’ Ken squawks, and the ring of soldiers around the taxi creep closer so that they’ve created a human barrier around the outside. ‘What are you saying? I’m just a guy! I’m not interesting at all! Wait-please-!’ He scrabbles at the windows, in vain.

‘Oh and we’ll be taking the dog too,’ the officer’s voice pierces through the hide of the car and Ken’s blood runs cold. ‘Thank you for your cooperation.’

\--

**Step 3 _:_ Vengeance**

With the issue of securing their own general safety being done and dusted, Amanda turns to the best – and final – part of being a fugitive.

_Vengeance._

It’s usually the highlight of the fugitive plotline. It’s neck breaking and cool, guttural deliveries of badass lines. Obviously, murder in real life is not an option. Unlike Bruce Willis, they’ve got the danger of jail time. Groin kicking, however, is definitely on the table. Unfortunately, as Amanda soon discovers, they have no way of getting to that part.

Blackwing, as Vogel describes, is Bad News with a capital B. He fumfers and mumbles most of his explanation but Amanda can get the gist of what happened the last time he was there and it makes her simmering frustration flare. Whatever those bonzoes are going to do to the other boys, it isn’t going to be good. But they don’t have the slightest idea where to start. Two days down the line, Vogel tells her in a wavering voice that he can’t feel the other rowdies anymore, that now that they’ve gone beyond some arbitrary limit, he hasn’t got any idea where they’ve gone.

So it’s a bit of a shitshow. She knows that. But the universe does its job to make things work out. And, a lot of the time, things working out means that things need to get real shitty for a while. It’s a lesson that Amanda’s way too familiar with, but the universe must think it’s time for a refresher.

At least, she’s in a private area when the attack comes. It’s a gas station, a small, sparse one with an even smaller toilet (unisex, presumably because genders are a hassle). Amanda is washing her hands in the dorito-scented sink, idly wondering if she can snatch one of those two-dollar-eyeshadow brushes on her way out, when the gushing tap water turns to acid. The pain – it’s hard and fast and brutal and she whips her hands out, reels away from the sink, trying to stifle a scream as she stares, stricken, at her fingers that fizz and bubble.

‘No! F-fuck no, no!-’ the acid eats away her raw stubs of fingers and she’s whimpering, backing into the grimey walls as her mind screams at her  _to get away, stop the pain, the burning_ , come  _ON, MOVE_. Her hands rush up almost instinctively –  _wipe it off, stop the burning, get it off, get IT OFF_  – but she knows better, keep it away from you, don’t let it spread, don’t let it get to you-

-it’s agony, she hasn’t hurt this bad in so long but she has to think, THINK –

The station. The station has the guy-the-the guy behind the register – is he here? Can he hear her? Low profile – they need to stay off the radar but –

No. He was on his break. He was outside, s-smoking – that’s why she was thinking of stealing because-because cash was running low and he wouldn't see and he won’t hear so-!

‘Vogel!’ she shrieks and he explodes through the door, the lock busting open with a dull crack. He’s by her side in an instant and she can’t see his face – god the pain is making her woozy – but he’s taking her hands in his and finally- _finally_ , the familiar wave of relief crashes over her as the pain seeps out of her fingers.

And then all at once, like the pop of a cork out of a bottle of foaming champagne, she sees. A flash of the field – a van, black and glossy without plates but then it cracks and now it’s dented, a window is shattered – she knows what this is, c’mon – move on - zoom in – the boys, or their shadows – their outlines are clear and she hears a throaty chuckle – it’s Cross – Martin (she can tell by the white hair) licks at a sped up dribble of blood – ‘…vampires…ain’t bats’ in Gripps’ murmured bass, disconnected – but then the slam of a door –vroom goes the van, no road but gravel – chain link fence, barbed wire – big white words are seared into her brain – BLACKWING – door after door slamming down with resounding thuds, thrumming through her brain – ‘…never get out,’ she catches the tail end of a man’s voice, familiar, familiar – the gun, the tall man with the itchy trigger finger – gnash your teeth, girl, snarl – the symbol, their symbol flares and she’s zooming out, speeding backwards along blurred roads until they stretch and fold and there’s her station, the bathroom and here we go-

Amanda gasps for air, wild and ragged and wheezing. Her fingers – her eyes shoot there the minute she can think straight – her fingers aren’t burning anymore. Vogel’s got her hands clutched tight to his chest and he looks stricken, his eyes wide with concern.

‘Boss?’ he says and she blinks dumbly in shock.

‘Ho-ly shit,’ Amanda breathes and, suddenly, she knows what to do.

\--

Martin lurches awake with a surprised sniff. His eyes are crusty with sleep and he wipes at them, pinches his nose, releases a guttural breath that rumbles through his throat. Somebody’s watching him. Not Blackwing with their hidden cameras (their eyes are glossy and red and lifeless) but something else. Something alive but it’s gone now and there’s a warm space left behind by its presence.

Martin sighs. Vampire senses are kooky.

The dull thump of construction reverberates through his glass cell and he grumbles back in turn, smacking his head back on the wall to create some sort of rhythmic beat. From his left, Gripps shifts in his own designated cell.

‘G’morning, Mart,’ his speech is punctuated with a wide yawn and his voice sounds muffled, underwater, through the thick glass wall separating their compartments. Martin pauses for a beat, checks his internal clock.

‘It ain’t morning, ripper,’ he says and Gripps shrugs.

‘Time’s a construct.’

Martin turns to his right where Cross lies on his side in his own cell. ‘Cross?’ he says and is met with a rattling snore. ‘Oi!’

‘I’m snoozing, ya dolt,’ Cross rises into a sitting position and levels a disgruntled look at Martin. ‘You’re disturbin’ the REM.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Gripps asks from his side. ‘Didn’t get your 10 hours?’

‘Aw, it’s just that shuteye’s the only time I get a break from you lot,’ comes Cross’ answer and all three of them break into laughter.

‘See, lookit this!’ he gestures around idly, his voice raised into a falsetto. ‘Such a ruckus!’

‘Aw, it's the construction, Cross,’ Martin mutters. ‘Still haven’t finished renovatin’ our old room.’

‘Why’s it takin’ so long? Ain’t this why people pay taxes?’

‘Structural security!’ Gripps declares dramatically. ‘S’all in the buildy stuff. Geometry.’

‘The hell you know about geometry, Gripps?’ Martin cocks a questioning eyebrow.

‘I went to school, Mart! I know aaaall about them maths stuff,’ Gripps shoots him a proud grin. ‘Even got a sticker one time.’

Martin whoops and Cross claps his hands in raucous applause, cackling.

‘We got a smartie over here!’ Martin yells and they all roar in agreement. ‘Whattabout you Cross? That big head of yours got anything goin’ on?’

‘Don’t bet on it, Mart,’ Cross has now tumbled over onto his back and he stares up at them from the ground, grinning. ‘I’m an idjit, you know that.’

‘Right I do.’

‘When I was a tot,  _I_  wanted to be a hairdressing zookeeper.’

Gripps hoots with laughter, uproarious.  ‘Whazzat that even?’ he says.

‘Like I’m a zookeeper but I also do hair.’

‘For people?’ Martin says.

‘Lions gotta have pretty manes too.’

‘Trippy,’ Gripps mutters to himself. ‘How you gonna do both?’

‘Time’s a construct.’

‘I knew you were awake back then!’ Gripps says, triumphant, and bangs on the wall.

‘You can’t prove nothing!’ Cross kicks back and immediately breaks out in a string of curses. ‘These walls suck!’ he shouts over the din of the sniggering.

‘Damn, he’s right,’ Gripps calls through the wall. ‘Can’t feel you through ‘em or nothing.’

‘That’s new,’ Martin says flatly. Gripps is right, unfortunately. These glass walls seem unassuming but they block their ability to _feel_  the other rowdies through any sort of matter. It’s uncomfortable. Isolating.

‘These bozoes got cleverer, eh?’ Cross says and Martin snorts.

‘So long as they’re still keepin’ us locked up in here, they’re dumb as shit,’ he replies, eliciting peals of laughter from his brothers on either side of him. ‘Y’hear that, bastards?’ he adds and makes an obnoxious kissy sound in the general direction of the cameras.

‘We’re gonna get out,’ Gripps murmurs, low. ‘And we’re gonna smash all your demon-eye cameras.’

‘Make those real eyes of yours pop’, Cross pops the ‘p’s of the last word, loud and deliberate.

‘That cam got a mic on it? Or are they just hidin’ a bunch of cowards?’ Martin asks.

‘C’mon, bucketheads! We’re up for a meal!’ Gripps’ voice rises into a roar and the glass walls around them shudder. A hidden speaker crackles to life and the boys whoop and jeer at the sound of it.

‘That’s what I’m talkin’ abou-!‘ Cross shouts, gleeful.

‘Crew A1 to Project Incubus for immediate sedation,’ a voice states flatly. Cross’ smug grin disappears.

‘What the-’

In the distance, there’s the fwoosh of a door opening and the clatter of boots. The boys whip around to face the noise, hackles raised.

‘This is some bucko bullshit,’ Gripps growls. In response, Martin strides up to the front of his cell in loud, heavy stomps.

‘Look alive, boys,’ he snarls and the alarm for their door blares. ‘We’re gonna keep these pixies on their toes.’

\--

Life on the run suits Amanda more than she thought it would.

There’s a rhythm that they sink into and it's the rumble of their car over the road, it's the whap of grass whipping by the side of the car, the cha-ching of gas station registers and greasy fast-food snatched from the counter. Weeks blur by and she filters into the person she’s got to be to survive this. It means she’s stricter, harsher - she takes less bullshit from people and Vogel teaches her how to break a nose with a sharp elbow to the face.

Even now she looks back on how she was before and there’s this rift between the two versions, not too far since she’s still  _her_  but it’s more like she’s become the person she was always meant to be and god, it feels  _amazing._

Living with Vogel is a skill she’s managed to improve at. He’s got a weird rhythm, like a staccato heartbeat that warps and spikes intermittently, but she learns how to sink and rise with him and they work. They _work_. Life with him is eventful on the road – they sleep in the car and wipe themselves down with wet-wipes in gas station toilets, sharing cracked mirrors and clippers and it’s basically the college roommate experience she’s always wanted with just a little bit more grime.

She doesn’t want to admit it, but the bustle of this lifestyle is also welcome for another reason. It lets her not  _think._ Her head, as always, is not a safe place for her and in silence, the crashing of her anxiety is almost deafening. Sometimes, in the worst days, it bubbles up and overflows into an attack, but Vogel is always there, holding her hand tight as he guides her out of it, and now that the pain and fear translates into a clearer path, she finds that they’re somehow more tolerable. They still suck, though. And the shivers that wrack her body afterwards…well, Amanda’s pretty sure that without the showers she catches in crappy gyms and swimming pool changing rooms, she’d have gone insane a while ago. Sometimes, the silence of the car at night makes her think she already has. She doesn’t have the time nor the energy to entertain darker thoughts but they burrow into her skull anyway.

_What if we never find them?_

_What if we get caught?_

_They’re being tortured right now and you’ve done fuck all._

_They might be dead._

She doesn’t focus on them, just grinds her teeth and steels herself against them for the sake of herself and Vogel. It’s not as if the latter has an off-switch for his vampiric senses and, as Amanda discovers soon enough, his own emotions are drastically influenced by her thoughts. It’s a flinch here, a sharp intake of breath there, a spastic mess of blinking and babbling – he filters his own fears through her. So Amanda becomes the person Vogel needs her to be. Secure. Immovable. Strong.

It’s easier than she thought it would be.

Still, she can’t protect him from everything and she knows it. Their emotional connection might as well go both ways (even if Amanda can’t sense emotions, she can still tell when something’s off) and because of that, she becomes increasingly conscious of Vogel’s mounting unease. In the weeks that follow Blackwing’s arrival, his frenzied nature transforms from excitement to stress, this type of agitated tremble that has him skittish, perpetually breathless. It means he’s on edge. Constantly.

Amanda knows why, and she doesn’t want to talk about it. She really, really doesn't want to talk about it. But she tries and gradually her trepidation turns into frustration because damn it, neither does he. Vogel fiddles with his jacket and mumbles and grumbles and nothing gets fixed and it's the worst. One time, he blows up at her and it surprises her into silence.

‘It doesn’t matter!’ he shouts, slamming their car to stop at the side of the road. ‘Stop asking me, boss! This isn’t gonna get the guys back faster so just stop!’

At her expression, Vogel’s contorted expression slackens into one of complete exhaustion.

‘I’m sorry, boss,’ he mumbles, and he eases the car back onto the road. It’s the slowest, most sensible speed they’ve ever travelled at and Amanda hates it.

‘It’s alright, Vogel,’ she manages and the next hour on the road is spent in stunted silence. Amanda is pointedly not looking at him, not because she wants to deepen his suffering, but because she doesn’t know what face to give him. This hasn’t happened before. What does she do in this situation? She’s run out of dumb platitudes and the facts are staring at her in the face – she has to face the music on this. Irrationally, she feels like crying.

At that moment, Vogel yanks the car into the parking lot of a pit-stop cafe, the sharp turn making her yelp. With a hurried mumble about getting food, Vogel snatches a few notes from their dwindling cash fund and bundles out the door, so fast Amanda doesn't even have time to protest. She wouldn't have, even if she could’ve. They need space. The moment his figure disappears behind the door of the restaurant, she breathes out a trembling sigh and puts her head in her hands.

God. This is the fucking worst.

Brotzmans have never been the best at emotional comfort and she is definitely no exception. But this? This is so out of her ballpark, she doesn’t even know where to start. Vogel is hurting really bad and unfortunately, it isn’t something that she can just ignore until it heals over. She knows that from experience.  If you leave that stuff alone, it festers and poisons until it's taking over your mind and killing you from the inside. It cripples you.

Nobody deserves that. Especially not Vogel.

Amanda swallows and wipes moisture from her eyes.

‘Okay,’ she whispers. ‘You can do this.’

Suddenly, there’s a hand rapping at her window, loud and brash. ‘What the fu-?!’ she squawks and curses quietly to herself as she takes in the sight of a policeman staring at her from outside, his eyebrows cocked in question. ‘Oh, come  _on_.’

Far too emotionally vulnerable for this, she gives the man a rocky smile and rolls down the window.

‘Is there a problem, officer?’ she says sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes innocently.

‘Well, I was just about to ask the same thing, missy,’ the man responds, not unkindly. ‘I saw you were crying in your car. Anything I can help with?’

After a second, Amanda realizes he’s serious and she takes a moment to look at him, really look at him. He’s a tall man, maybe mid-forties, and his eyes crinkle easily at the ends. The police uniform suits him, somehow, even though his soft expression seems kind of incongruous as her eyes dart to the gun holstered on his belt.

‘Oh, well, it’s about a friend,’ she finds herself saying. ‘We’re going through a rocky period.’

He sucks in a breath through his teeth and nods sympathetically. ‘We’ve all been there,’ he says. ‘I find that the best thing to is to respect each other. Put all your cards on the table.’

Somehow, this random, small town cop is actually making her feel better. Amanda bites her lip thoughtfully and nods, chancing a smile at the man. ‘Thanks,’ she says and she means it. At that moment, her gaze moves beyond the policeman’s form and her eyes widen as she sees Vogel, slack-jawed in shock, standing outside the restaurant with a paper bag of fast food. Oh no. In an instant, she’s out of the car – ‘Sorry, give me a second,’ she says quickly and the policeman politely steps to the side – and she gets there just as Vogel’s snatching up a brick as a weapon. ‘Don't,’ she hisses and he stares at her in wide-eyed shock.

Careful to shield the policeman’s view of Vogel, she spins around with a grin plastered on. ‘This is the friend,’ she mouths and the guy winks knowingly.

‘Good luck,’ he whispers as he walks past them into the restaurant, saluting to a very confused Vogel as he does. ‘Afternoon, sir.’

As soon as he’s passed by, Amanda steers Vogel back towards the car. They only get a few steps down before he’s wrenching away from her grip.

‘What the-why, boss?’ he implores, just the slightest bit hysterical. ‘That guy had a-a gun! That’s a pain machine! And-and he was just right next to - ’ he shakes his brick adamantly. ‘Why didn’t you clonk him?’

‘He was nice! He was helping me with...this problem!’

Vogel stares at her, incredulous. ‘They’re never just  _nice_!’ he shout-whispers, shooting quick glances to where the policeman flips through a plastic menu in his booth. ‘We gotta go!’

With a solid grip on her sleeve, he drags her over to the car and more or less elbows her into her seat. After a second of hesitation, he also shoves his paper bag into her hands and clambers into his own spot, flooring it the moment he’s in place. Irked, Amanda’s about to chew him out but the words die in her throat at the sight of his stormy expression. Amanda swallows.

Now effectively silenced, she takes a peek at the contents of her bag of food and looses a soft sigh. It’s a bit crushed from rough handling but the stains are unmistakable – Vogel had drawn a smiley face on top of the burger with ketchup. An apology. She quietly drops the burger back into the bag.

‘For later,’ she mutters, even though he hasn’t said anything, and she turns to stare out the window. God, she’s tired.

What’s left of the day is spent in a stiff, awkward tension. Amanda isn’t angry anymore and it feels like neither is Vogel, but they still tiptoe around each other with mumbled excuses and curt glances. She doesn’t really know what to call this – it isn’t something like pride (god knows they left  _that_ construct behind from the very beginning) but it’s something stubborn, a mutual fear of something unsaid. The awkwardness follows them into the night when they silently share a box of fish and chips as they lean against the fence of a deserted, road-side field. Amanda almost tries something – the words are ready on her tongue – but at the last minute, she swallows it down and instead calls for an early night. Vogel agrees with a wordless shrug.

They pile into the car, both adamant to not touch each other, and it’s at that moment that Amanda decides she hates this. This silence is just like how she used to be, weak and afraid and in pain. And it’s supposed to be different now. Why isn’t it different now?

At some point, she falls asleep but she only realizes that once a boot rudely kicks her awake.

‘Wha-?’ Groggy from sleep, she flails dumbly and somehow manages to block another kick with the back of her arm. ‘What the hell?’

She shoots up, sliding back on her reclined drivers seat, as her mind finally processes what is happening. Her breath catches in her throat. Behind her, Vogel is thrashing around on the backseat, his eyes scrunched tight and his limbs jerking out intermittently in time with his pathetic, panicked whimpers. A nightmare.

‘Vogel?’ Overcome by worry, she scrambles into the backseat and shakes him awake. ‘Vogel, wake up!’

With a sharp intake of breath, his eyes fly open and the tension washes out of him with a gasp. And then he’s launching himself into her arms, his hands winding around her back as he burrows his head into her shoulder.

‘You were gone,’ he croaks out and with mounting horror, Amanda realizes he’s crying.

‘I’m here, Vogel. It was just a dream and -’ she finds herself babbling but Vogel’s speaking over her now, his voice ramping up in volume and his fingers digging into her shoulder blades.

‘The bad guys-they came and took you away and I couldn’t help you and you were screaming and then I was all alone and I didn’t know what to do and it was so much worse than the other times because it was my fault-‘

‘Vogel!’ she says sharply and it makes him jerk away, blinking furiously, as if he only just realized what he was doing. ‘The other times? How long have you been having nightmares?’

His expression gains a panicked look and he picks at his sleeve worriedly. ‘A while.’

‘Vogel.’

The note of disapproval in her voice makes his eyes widen and he blurts out, ‘Like, a week n’ a half or something.’

Immediately, Amanda deflates.

‘I’m sorry,’ Vogel says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction, and she wordlessly drags him back in for a tight hug.

‘You should’ve told me,’ she whispers.

‘It doesn't matter, boss.’

‘It does,’ they part and she fixes him with a hard look. ‘Listen, maybe, I can help or something. What were you dreaming about?’

Vogel suddenly seems enraptured by the scuff marks on the leather seat. He pointedly avoids her gaze.

‘Nothing.’

‘You told me there were bad guys.’

‘No I didn't.’

‘Yes. You did,’ her voice holds a note of exasperation that has him darting glances at her. ‘You literally did it two minutes ago.’

‘No, that was just-‘

Amanda snaps.

‘Why won’t you tell me anything?’ she interrupts abruptly and he jumps back, her outburst shocking a response out of him.

‘Because it doesn't matter! I’m just a wimp, okay?’ he says quickly and there’s a short, tense silence. Amanda moves closer, taking his hand in hers.

‘Vogel, you’re not a wimp. You’re the bravest guy I know.’ Amanda wrinkles her nose for a second. It’s not saying much but it’s something. Sullen, Vogel stares at his hands, frowning.

‘Brave guys don't just run away, ’ he mutters.

‘What?’

His head shoots up, his eyes shining with anger.

‘Blackwing came-’ he spits the words out like he hates them, ‘-and I ran away.’

‘You had to,’ she provides desperately but he shakes his head fervently. ‘They would’ve caught you!’ she adds and he tears his hand from her grasp.

‘I just abandoned the other guys!’ he shouts, throwing his arms up in the air in disgust. ‘And-and, I thought it would be okay because we’d get them back soon but it’s been ages and we don’t even know if they’re okay!’

Amanda gently pushes his arms back down to his sides and draws even closer, swallowing hard.

‘Vogel,’ she begins, reasoning. ‘We know they’re alive, alright? My batshit crazy brain says so.’ At that, she points to her head and his eyes flick up to follow the movement. ‘And…you didn’t abandon them,’ she continues softly. ‘They told you to leave. They couldn’t let you get caught. They wanted you to be free because they knew you’d come after them, and we are.’

‘But nothing. Is. Happening!’ Vogel looks around the car, almost incredulous. ‘We’re just…driving around! And you-’ He stops and gives her an apologetic look, his brows creasing down the middle in a way that suddenly makes him seem a lot older, ‘-you keep hurting…and we’re not any closer.’

‘You don't know that.’

‘I can’t  _feel them_ , boss,’ he says bitterly. She forces his chin up so that he’s holding her gaze.

‘ _I_  can.’

Vogel’s eyes widen, and he stills in her grip.

‘I know we’re getting closer. I just know,’ she says and she believes it. Tonight, she’s finally putting a name to that cursory hum that’s followed her around ever since their adventure started. Ever since she realized what she had to do back in that alley. Ever since she stopped Vogel outside that barber and heard no one whisper directions. That beat – it’s been there from the start and its certainty tells her everything she needs to know in this moment. ‘Shit – I know you have no reason to but I need you to trust me. Can you trust me?’

His face seems to crumple, halfway to a sob, and he gives her this imploring look.

‘I already trust you, boss,’ he whispers and the smile she gives him is grim with emotion.

‘I trust you too.’ Her hands drop from his face to take his hand once more and, after a moment, she adds, ‘We’ve got each other’s back, don't we?’

‘Yeah,’ Vogel squeezes her hand, comforting. After a hesitant pause, he adds, ‘I’m sorry about today, boss.’ He swallows. ‘I just can’t – I can’t let you get hurt, boss. That’s no good.’

‘I’m sorry too. I shouldn't have pushed you so hard,’ Amanda gives him a long look. ‘By now, you should know you’re family, right?’

He stares at her in shock and it makes her smile. ‘Family?’

‘Hell yeah,’ she grins. ‘God knows you’re way better than my actual brother. And you know what? We’re still the Rowdy Three, even with just the two of us,’ she adds and his eyes gleam. ‘And tomorrow – I dunno – we can go find a tagger and use his stuff and paint a giant three on this tin can. We’ll show them we aren’t scared.’

Vogel nods, this time with fervor, and his grin actually looks genuine.

‘They make have taken the other guys,’ she continues and his smile falters. ‘And maybe you’re scared. I’m scared too.’

Gently, she grasps his face in her hands and brings him close. ‘But we escaped once. We can do it again.’ His eyes look up at her in awe, glittering. ‘We’ll make it, okay? And I promise to you, we’ll save the others. We’ll save all of ‘em.’

He swallows.

‘Promise?’

‘I promise,’ As the words leave her mouth, Amanda realizes that she actually means it. That buzz in her head that's stuck around ever since her first vision – it thrums a comforting beat in her ears to the rhythm of three blurred-out heartbeats and she  _knows_. That they’re out there. That they’re alive. That they’re waiting for them. Thoughtful, Vogel chews at his bottom lip. A second later, he’s hugging her as if his life depends on it and, this time, she’s ready for it and she holds him tight.

‘I trust you,’ he mumbles into her shoulder and she knows that no matter what may happen, she’ll always have this. For a second, she is filled to the brim with molten hope, warm and soothing, and maybe, if she shuts her eyes tight, she can imagine that nothing can hurt them. As Vogel draws away, she uses that glow and darts forward to peck him on his forehead. It makes him smile, tired as he is, and his eyes crinkle at the ends.

Afterwards, she climbs back into her reclined seat of a bed and burrows down into her blanket, muttering something along the lines of getting back to sleep. Sprawled out over the backseat, Vogel reaches out his hand, expectant and she releases a fond little sigh.

It’s the most natural thing in the world to link her fingers with his and, within a few minutes, they’re both asleep, pleasantly dreaming of nothing. For the rest of the night and most of the nights that follow, Vogel sleeps well and, by the end of the next day, their car is sporting a bright red '3' on the hood.

When Amanda leans back from the hood, satisfied with her work, she locks eyes with Vogel who hops off the boot to come over and clutch her hand, comfortingly tight. In the light of the setting sun, the red of the number seems to glow.

'It's a bit wonky,' she says. Vogel rests his head on top of her shoulder.

'It's perfect,' he breathes, and he's right.


End file.
